White Horses
by Breakshift
Summary: In what the police described as a 'freak accident', Lawliet is punished with the death of his parents after his curiosity and bright nature leave the Shinigami pondering over his talent. Years later, Lawliet lives with Watari, his guardian, retaining a back-seat to all the drama. But after Lawliet is provoked by a Death God to accept the Death Note, will he take revenge?
1. Chapter 1

Tearing the curling threads of paper and making a neat pile, Lawliet appeared to be enjoying himself under the watchful eye of Watari, his gaze sharply fixated on the pile, which was forth increasing. Lawliet hadn't realised until late that his parents were discredited from his life, and almost under the shadow of a broken memory, his provocative thoughts were eased under the engulfing calamity of his watcher. From an early age, Lawliet had known of Shinigami, and was not afraid of the afterlife, particularly when he had learnt that his parents resided in this pool of chaos, their lives unwritten, and taken away by that book. Watari closed his eyes and released passively, resting each hand on his thighs and peering down over his glasses, astounded by the precision to detail Lawliet had given this seamlessly frugal yet useless mountain of paper. Lawliet shook his head briefly, as if fighting back resentment, and with a sudden gust from the musty window to his right, the pile was scattered across the room. Lawliet had been living in the confines of his parents' home for the majority of his life, and whilst his parents had made note in their will of the shares and dividends between Lawliet and Watari, they had made no note of his future, only that Lawliet learn hand to hand combat and thus to fend for himself. Watari was ensnared by his own trail of thought, and on opening his eyelids, he was starlted to see Lawliet directly in front of him, two large, obedient eyes peering into his, almost as if his fragile posture was squaring up to his. For a brief moment Watari thought that Lawliet had been precariously angry at him for not playing with his toys, but as Lawliet peered up at him, he cuddled lightly at his kneecaps and produced a small white horse, the plastic coating making it gleam, despite the rich patina of slobber that Lawliet had made by chewing on it. Slowly, Lawliet's rounded lips split a smile, and he coursed the horse over his thighs, the horse at one point defying gravity by swooping round Watari's chest, finishing on the opposite knee.

'Do you think that horses think like humans do?'

Watari looked quizzically at him, who was facing his horse and making it gallop spastically, laughing to himself and letting it stand on the ridge of his leg. Lawliet focussed expectantly on his gaze, and Watari trod a thin line, biting the inside of his cheek.

'I think all animals think.'

'You said think twice, that's funny.'

Watari smiled at Lawliet, who was now completely engrossed in the television set adjacent. Sitting back, he wiped his brown with his handkerchief, and sat back, enveloped by the large chair. He could hear Lawliet breathing close by, giggling at points where there were chases between cat and mouse, the show finally drawing to a close when the cat had his cat in a drainpipe. By then, Watari had taken his glasses off and Lawliet had crawled onto his lap, smiling immensely and closing on a pout.

'That had to hurt.' Watari exclaimed, closing his novel, which was slightly squashed under the weight of Lawliet.

'Yeah.' Lawliet replied, turning to him and cracking a smile. 'He might have died.'

Watari had not expected such a response, and with the radiant smile disclosing such information, he felt it almost eerie that Lawliet was so focussed on the aspect of death. A chill sloped down his collar, and Lawliet was now brushing his hair away from his eyes, propped up on his feet. His eyes creased, swallowed by his unruly expression, Lawliet huffed, only to let out a breath, as if he had just pushed down bile from his throat. Watari looked at him hesitantly.

'Would you like a cat, Lawliet?'

'I would like my parents back.'

Watari shuddered, and Lawliet could feel the disdain in his shivers, crawling into a ball and nuzzling his nose into Watari's buttoned shirt, his hair brushing his chin. For a moment Watari fell silent, but as the television broke the edge, Watari forced himself into reply.

'You have me.'

'I know.' Lawliet replied, feeling solemn but not content over his reply. 'And I have _them_.'

'Who?'

'_them_, they see me at night time.'

Watari looked up and took new stance, observing Lawliet. 'Who sees you, Lawliet?'

'The Shinigami.'

Watari pushed himself up and nearly knocked Lawliet off his lap. Lawliet turned to him and smiled lightly, slouching, reminding Watari of his father. For a moment he felt uneased, but Lawliet had seen shrinks, and had always been called a different child, someone born different to the rest. He rose, towered over Lawliet and gripped his hand lightly.

'Do they say anything to you?'

'Not really.'

'Not really?'

'Not really.'

Watari's smile declined and he kneeled down, pushing Lawliet into an embrace. Lawliet laughed a little and hugged him tightly, his hair ruffling lightly.

'Watari, thank you for the new toy.'

Watari peered down his glasses, trying not to seem ominous to the small child. He felt the ebb of death on his shoulders, and he knew where this conversation was heading, almost as if he himself waned for this to happen. Slowly, he detached from Lawliet and quivered.

'Which new toy?'

'The new one.'

'Where?'

'Upstairs.'

'Where did you get it?'

'I thought you gave it to me. It's very nice, but it looks old.' He shook his head and recited the phonetics to himself. 'An – An – Ticuh – Antique.' He kinked his head 'but you gave me no pen for it.'

Watari was weary of Lawliet's innocence, and he felt it obvious that he must not feel fazed, or Lawliet would be in danger. Already he was a mentally distraught child.

'Could you show it to me?'

He nodded, and slowly walked up the stairs, allowing the creak to fill the room, creating a dense atmosphere which Watari didn't feel comfortable with. As they walked across the hallways, Watari old crests and pictures of Lawliet's mother and father, the calamity witnessed in a picture of Lawliet's mother and Lawliet when he was first born striking to him, that instance where she had died instantly returning to him. Lawliet opened the door and allowed Watari entry. The room was a bold white, with specks of brown flooding the walls, swallowing the colour. The interior was bare, with a dank, jaded atmosphere, the temperature colder than the rest of the house, noticeably because Watari could never fix the radiator on the left hand side. Under the sandy shades there were shapes of a hollow lamp, a piano and old stuffed toys, and relics of Lawliet's past. The room was spacious, but the furniture cluttered, pushed into one area and forgotten. But there, were Lawliet would sit and read, there was a book, blackened by streaks of leather, forged from the cerebral pits of hell itself. Watari and Lawliet stared in sync, pushing against each other in the narrow hallway. Lawliet tugged against his shirt and Watari nodded, walking closer and looking down. In metallic letters, _Death Note_ rang out, Watari's sombre thoughts soon bearing the brunt of anger and torment, remembering the chaos that each of these books had presented. Watari smiled back at Lawliet, and with a swift motion edged closer to the book, as if it was plagued, banished from the endless shelves of literature to the confines of a bedroom. He stretched his hand out, only to find Lawliet's hand grab his, pushing it away lightly. Watari looked at him and tried again, to no avail. Lawliet turned around, and then back to him.

'No.'

'Why not?'

'You – You can't touch it.'

'Why not, Lawliet?'

'You can't.'

Watari smiled and ruffled his hair lightly, and left his arm outstretched, his ignorance fooling him infront of the kakitopia the book presented. The pages were thick and it looked more tired and battered than it did antique. Lawliet watched him carefully, and when he attempted a jab, Lawliet cried out.

'No!'

Watari was angry, and with an arm outstretch felt close to pushing Lawliet aside, despite his parents' wishes for protection. His voice croaking slightly, he turned to him and faltered. 'Why can't I touch it?'

Lawliet looked around the room and stepped closer, picking up the book and holding it with both arms against his chest. He looked lost and afraid, the large book clutched against him, seamlessly inseparable from that moment. He shook his head and whispered to himself, and Watari hadn't yet acknowledged why Lawliet had disallowed him entry. He felt Lawliet's presence, and at that moment he turned to Lawliet and was enraged, saturated by anger, the pangs of pain felt from seeing Lawliet's parents die striking at his very core. 'Why can't I?'

Lawliet swallowed loudly, and pushed back against the door. He seemed to be looking above Watari, and then downwards, tracing the outline of his shadow. Worried, afraid, he turned away and then looked down, Watari suddenly hearing a shudder from behind, the toy horse rolling in front of his feet. Lawliet squinted, and raised his hand, pointing above Watari's head.

'Because he's here.'


	2. Chapter 2

Lawliet woke to the nonchalant hum from large breasted doves outside his window, the air musty, the wallpaper to his right flaking, exacerbating the decay of his unfurnished room. The window drew an immense portion of the wall, and as Lawliet slid out of the tendrils of his bed, he looked down at his bare feet, then shook his head, clusters of dust silently bouncing onto the mattress, the excess floating around the room under a think spell of sunlight, the wedge bright, blossoming out and painting the walls a colour vaguely reminiscent to the sepia images of his mother and father, their faces joyous as they painted the very room he now stood alone in.

The breeze blitzed the paper that was on the window sill, letting it flutter around the room, the pieces he had tore off strewn over the floor after the flurry. Lawliet looked blankly at the floor, and then picked up the picture of him and Watari on chained swings, their faces radiant and joyous under an evening sun. Sticking it back up to the cork-frame Watari had bought for his studying, Lawliet parted his hair in front of the mirror, only for it to stand back up, the arbitrary nature of his appearance seamlessly innocent, despite his large bottomless eyes and pale complexion. After brushing his teeth and wiping the white residue from around the curvature of his lips, he smiled at himself at the mirror, his reflection shadowing his moments. For a moment, Lawliet thought he was briefly detached from reality, as when he looked into his eyes, he could see only blackness, and the faint hum of birds disappearing under low clouds and disdain. In that brief allotted time, Lawliet could see his parents, focusing on the mirror only to see a happy family, a dog then colliding against his lap, cuddling against his lap, the dog's tail thumping against the ground, the grass flattened under their exposure. Under tall grass Lawliet could see a cat lying face downward, and like the rewind of a tape, the moment played out in still frames, his pets flee from him, his parents moving away, waving goodbye to him and driving to their inevitable doom. To his dismay he could only sit and watch, and in that lapse of time, he felt together, completely content with his life.

But it was an illusion, looking into the scrying glass and peering back into his parents' eyes. Still, he persisted. A lonely child without a true family, he could only hope that if this wasn't a dream, he could re-establish contact with his mother, his father, his old life. Creeping forward, he pushed himself further into the image, projecting himself into the old life he used to live. Soon he became close to his old self and looking down to his body, he smiled a little, happy to see that he was enjoying himself. In the area he was standing he could begin to see pavement, thin trunks of cherry blossoms, and the faint smell of an apricot picnic. It was as if he had been comforted by the sepia image and drawn in together, and for a moment he wondered if, similar to the stories he would be read at night, he too was now just a pixel in an image, and was permanently stuck in this reality. But that didn't matter to him. Picking himself up, he stood in his baggy white shirt and blue jeans, watching his younger self, looking up to see that his parents had sat on a bench, overlooking his acts of play. Lawliet seemed confused, as though something was off tangent, and as he looked over to the right, he could see the blackness of the sun, the world slowly turning to grey. His alternate body was beginning to fade, and as he wondered how he so vividly remembered the scene, he watched the sun dizzily sway off behind hedgerows, blotting out his crisp view. Lawliet turned to his parents to seek reassurance, and began to fear the scene, when his parents looked at him glumly. He could see them walking over, but as they walked directly through his transient body, he perked up on his feet and sat down next to his former self.

'What are you doing?' He asked, his speech strained, but vociferated by a loud gust.

'Playing.' His former said reciprocated, still looking down at the ground.

Lawliet sat down, and for a brief moment he could feel sand filling up the pockets of his jeans, as if he was falling downwards. For a moment he was frightened, but as he sat closer to his former self, he noticed that he was holding a white horse, similar to his bit with the head chewed off. Lawliet pondered over it, and became expressively agitated. Taking stance, he asked him quizzically what happened.

'Well we were playing with it and he said it would be funnier if the horse had no head.'

Lawliet had remembered seeing a fim with a headless horseman, but at that moment he was intelligent enough to realise that this might simply be a figment of his imagination. Smiling to himself, he grated his fingers against the sand and pulled himself in closer.

'Really? Do you think it's funnier?'

'Not really.'

'Not really?'

'Not really.'

'Why?'

'Because he uses it now.'

Lawliet stopped and froze instantaneously, as he looked down at his former self once more. There, in the sand, he could no longer see the horse in his hand, but rather a large figure behind him, pulling it out of his grasp and throwing it aside. Lawliet looked puzzled, and fell backwards. To his disbelief, he focussed in on his former self, watching as the figure behind materialised, its large bony hands gripping his shoulders, looking as if he was ready to pounce on top of him. Lawliet's mouth gaped, and he frantically turned his head, to see that the image was folding inwards, as if someone was cutting out the sunlight and letting him drop into darkness. Besieged by a frenzy of emotions, he sat closer to see that his younger version was hunched over, the tall figure behind him pressing him downwards. Frantically he tried to life the hands off his back, but was only found to fall through. He could only watch, as his doppelganger leaned forwards. There, in his hand, he could see a skeletal pen, carving into the paper infront of him. The figure behind began to laugh, as his former began to write quicker. Around him he could see explosions, people screaming out, and for a brief second they were the centre of the universe, the hand of God. Lawliet tried to cover his eyes, but as his shoulders shifted, he looked over to see the large smile on his former's face, crying out with laughter and continuing to write. He felt sour, and as he looked at the writing there was simply an abundance of names, dates and fatal events. Lawliet stumbled, and swiftly he turned away. As he closed his eyes and tried to escape, he felt cold hands rise up against him, and aura of despair behind him. He looked up, then downwards, the same pen in his hand. He could see Watari in front, and unable to fight back, he wrote the name in the _Death Note_, crying loudly to himself. A train began to approach, and as if under a demented spell, Lawliet spastically wrote in continuation. He looked down on the page and grunted, his eyes saturated with soft tears. There, in blood, he could see the dark outline of his work. He weeped, and looked down. There, on the page, lay three words in succession.

_Liberation._

_Liberation._

_Liberation._


End file.
